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Gay Trucker Bait Part 1: Trucker comes to relief of a stranded BMW driver.
As I came up from the beach, I saw Carl and Angela on the deck, He had her top off and was stroking her breasts, and she was sitting astride his lap, having made who knows what connection. I knew what they’d be doing for the next couple of hours, which would leave me at loose ends again. I decided to take the initiative.
“Hey, Carl,” I yelled out from below the deck sight line. “Would now be the time for me to try out that new BMW convertible of yours?”
“Absolutely,” Carl eagerly yelled back. “Here’re the keys. Take a nice long drive.” And the keys came spinning over the deck rails, accompanied by giggles from Angela.
I heard them move into the house, and I went over to the enclosed shower at the base of the stairs to the deck, grabbed up my shorts from the lower step, and slung them over the five-foot wall separating the shower from the beach. I stepped into the shower and stripped off my Speedo. I flipped it onto the top of the stall next to my shorts, and turned the shower on full blast, allowing the cool water to run over my well-cut body. I lathered up and rinsed off, unthinkingly letting my hand wander to my crotch, cupping my balls and running down my half hard on, cursing both Carl and Angela. Full of indecision, because I didn’t know whether I envied Carl—or Angela—the most.
I quickly and roughly toweled off and grabbed for my shorts. I was in so much of a hurry to put distance between me and Carl and Angela that I didn’t bother with either underwear or a T. I just stepped into the loose, elastic-waisted shorts, checked to make sure my wallet with my license and my sunglasses were there, put my feet into my deck shoes, and headed toward Carl’s new BMW. Take a long ride, he’d said. I’d do that for sure.
I headed inland on a back road, the top down, and me working on my tan, and then, 100 miles out, I turned onto the expressway to head back. Not more than 20 miles on the journey back, though, the convertible sputtered and I drifted over to the side of the road.
Gawd. I’d been looking at the wrong dial to check the gas supply. I was out. Empty. A quick check also told me that I had practically no cash and had taken the credit cards out of my wallet before I’d hit the beach. Shit. I’d have to try to hitch a ride all the way back to the beach and come back with gas and Carl. Oh well, that would keep his hands off Angela for a couple of hours.
I got out of the car and leaned back on the hood, wondering how people managed to hitch a ride these days when everyone was scared of everyone else. And here I was, practically nude, my bodybuilder’s body probably a sign of trouble to half the motorists on the road.
I didn’t have to worry for long. A big semitrailer truck slowed down beside the Beamer and pulled off the road ahead of me.
I sauntered up the side of the truck and looked up into a pleasant face with a big, friendly grin underneath unruly dirty blond hair and clear blue eyes. The guy looked like he was in his early forties and real capable.
“Car trouble?” he asked.
“Just out of gas,” I said. “But I don’t have any cash or credit cards with me and am just looking for a ride back to the beach where I can get help.”
“No problem,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “I’m heading in that direction. Hop in.”
“Thanks. But just a minute,” I responded. “I’ve got to go back and button the car down.”
“Sure,” he grinned, but you don’t look like the buttoned down type. He was looking me up and down pretty good.
I laughed. “Sorry, I left the beach in a hurry, I’m afraid. I don’t usually hang out this much.”
“No problem,” he said, with a grin.
When I’d gotten the BMW’s top in place and had locked up and opened the passenger door to the semi cab, I did a double-take. I could have sworn the driver had had a shirt on when I was talking to him from the ground, but he didn’t now. He was lean and wiry, but well-muscled, the veins on his tight arm and chest muscles popping out. But what was most prominent was the intricate design of tattoos that covered the whole left side of his torso, from his shoulder down to at least his waist—some sort of climbing ivy design, with the eyes of animals peering out around the leaves. Very intriguing.
“I like to hang out too,” he said, as I belted up and he swung back into traffic. “It’s a perk of being your own man on the open road. You can do mostly as you please as long as you don’t go more than five miles over the speed limit. Name’s Mac,” he continued. “As in the truck. Your’s?”
“Buck, it’s actually Buckley, a family name, but everyone calls me Buck.”
“Well, put it there, Buck,” and he put out his free hand, which I took. He had a good, firm grip, which he kept in place an extra second or two, his eyes taking mine in as long as he could spare from checking the road. “Good name, Buck. Sort of like Stud; leaves a good, solid impression.”
I thought this one over as we motored down the road. I looked over and saw that his eyes were off the road again and checking out my pecs. He saw me seeing him scanning me, just as he done when I had been standing on the road talking up at him.
“Nice bod,” he said. “Work out a lot, do you?”
“Not a whole lot,” I answered, “probably mostly good genes. You look like you keep in shape too,” I added, just to be sociable.
“Yep, I lift weights when I can. Hard to do when you’re on the road so much.”
“Yes, I can understand that,” I answered, searching for conversation material.
“But there are lots of ways to keep in shape,” he went on. “I manage to get a good workout even when I’m on the road. There are all sorts of interesting opportunities for that on the road.”
He was looking at me again, almost as if he was sizing me up. I didn’t quite know what to think of that.
We moved on down the road in silence for a bit. I felt a crick in my neck and lifted my hand to rub it and twisted my neck around.
Mac noticed what I was doing. “Stiff neck muscles?” he asked. “That’s a typical problem of road work. Here, I know how to get those knots out quickly.”
Without even asking permission, he lifted his free hand up and gripped the back of my neck and began applying pressure with his fingers and working the knots out. My initial reaction was to pull away from his too-intimate compromising grip, but his massage was working wonders. I revolved my neck, enjoying the release of tension and the aching muscles.
“It comes from the way you hold your shoulders,” he was saying, “so you have to work them out as well.” And, keeping his eyes mostly on the road, he moved his hands alternately from my neck out along my right shoulder and massaged my biceps there and then back to my left shoulder and to the biceps of my left arm.
“Even the pecs become involved,” he said, and, incredulously I felt his massaging hand on my right breast, kneading it ever so gently. “Whatever workout you’re doing,” he said, it’s working out real well.
“Uh,” I responded, starting to pull away, but, horrors of horrors, felt my cock coming to life. I opened my eyes, and, double horrors, I could see the tenting of my shorts at my crotch. My eyes flashed over to Mac, and I saw that he was stealing glances at the tenting as well.
“Uh,” I started to say something again.
“Just relax,” Mac was saying. “You are tensing up again. Don’t worry; it’s just a sports massage. It’s just how we relieve the tensions of the road.”
And then, before I could regroup and think of a graceful way out of this, Mac asked, “Got a girlfriend?” Without waiting for an answer, though, he added, “Bet you keep her real satisfied.” He probably had said this just to establish for sure that he’d seen me getting hard.
“Uh, no, not at present,” I responded. “Got a girlfriend right now, I mean. Well, there is someone, but it’s a little complicated.”
“No girl to stick. Ah, that probably has something to do with the built-up tension. Not a good thing for a guy named Buck to be without a good fuck for any length of time. You really should do something for that tension. Here, this should help.”
Thankfully, his hand left their kneading of my pecs and moved around to between my shoulder blades. He worked his hand down to the small of my back, massaging all of the way down. I had to admit that it felt good. But I tensed up again when the hand came around my waist and massaged around my abs.
“Ah, but maybe you’ve got a boyfriend,” Mac said with a little laugh.
“No, of course not,” I exploded with indignation. I gave a little lurch toward the passenger door, but my cock gave a little lurch at the suggestion as well, and gave my building interest away. The rising tent of my loose shorts hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mac, either. I just hoped he hadn’t discerned the small lie. Carl had only fucked me twice, though, so I’m not sure that constituted having a boyfriend.
“Ah, there’s nothing wrong with being bi, I always say, or even just being a bit experimental—to get rid of the tensions, of course” answered Mac, with a chuckle. “On the road you take what you can get, where you can get it—and sometimes from whoever you can get it. Getting that exercise where you can get. And, you know, as long as the other one is good lookin’, congenial, and willing. Then what’s the harm to that? Who’s to care, what I always say.”
What could I say to that? I’d have to think about that. Not sure how long I’d have to think about that, though. As Mac’s hand was now resting on my belly, just above the elastic waistband of my shorts.
We drove on down the road a mile or two in that standoff. I knew now what Mac wanted, but it seemed that he wasn’t going to force himself on me. He was obviously waiting for some sort of signal, either way. I was trying to keep even breaths, willing my cock to recede, which it stubbornly was unwilling to do. Mac softly whistling a catchy tune, his eyes on the road, was searching the signs that were passing us by.
“You’re certainly good looking and take real good care of yourself,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Can’t see anyone turning you down, female or male.” Still waiting for that signal; begging for that signal. I said nothing. A few more moments of silence. This was all new ground for me. Beyond a couple of slips with Carl, I hadn’t even worked any of this out in my own mind.
“Me.” he said, “How do I come across to you? Do you find me good lookin’ too?”
A few more moments of silence while I struggled with myself, my needs, my anger at both Carl and Angela. “Yeah,” I said, now resigned. “Yeah, I find you very good looking. Just what I thought a trucker of interest might be like. Strong, steely . . . and capable.”
“So, ever thought about truckers?” he asked, clearly pleased at my response. “Ever thought of doing it with a trucker?”
“No,” I said with a nervous little laugh. “Can’t say I’ve ever given any thought before about doing it with a trucker.” But, of course, I had now that I thought about it. And I’d thought about truckers who were rougher and not as careful and concerned about what I thought as Mac was being.
A few seconds of silence.
“Thinking of doing it with a trucker now?” Mac asked in a low voice, suddenly all serious and intense. Searching for that signal.
A few seconds of high-tension silence. Oh, what the fuck, I thought to myself. “Yeah, sure, why not?” I whispered.
“What was that?” Mac asked sharply?
“Yes,” I said more loudly, more definitively. And I felt my body just completely relax at that, the decision made, no more struggling. No second guessing.
Mac felt me relax too, and his hand came down across the fabric of my shorts, and found my cock. He fingered my cock through the silkiness of the shorts, running his fingers down it, measuring me, feeling me fill out.
“Gawd,” he said, letting out a big breath. “How big is that muva?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seven and half, maybe eight inches,” I said, finding it hard to breathe, all my sensations rushing to my crotch.
“Maybe eight and half or nine,” he responded and gave a low whistle. “Oh gawd, oh gawd,” he kept muttering, as he stroked me through the fabric. “Oh gawd, oh happy day. How does that feel?”
“OK. No, fine. Ah, fuck, no, Great,” I managed to croak, pushing my legs apart as far as I could in the cab. He hand left my cock and moved down to my right thigh. He explored and massaged the muscles there gently and then moved to my right left thigh and did the same. I sighed and scooched down a bit in the seat. All the time his eyes were frantically searching the road signs we were passing. He clearly was looking for something in particular. I felt his hand running up my inner thigh, under the fabric of my shorts. He had a finger on the perineum right at the base of my balls.”
“Gawd, damn,” he let loose with a puff of breath. “You aren’t wearing briefs.”
“No,” I answered. “As I said, I left the beach in a hurry. Do you mind?”
“Do I mind?” he exploded. “Do I mind? Fuck, no. But I think these pants are going to kill me, I’ve got such a hard on. Can you do something about that?”
“You mean you want me to do something? Here? Me? Me to you?”
His looked at me. His eyes were wild and imploring. He took my balls gently in his hand and started to roll them. I groaned in surprise and ecstasy, but I did as he asked, unbuckling a huge brass buckle advertising Texas, slowly unzipping his jeans, and tugging them down his slim hips. He was wearing bright red pouch underwear. I couldn’t find an opening in them, so I just lifted them up and tucked them under his balls. A long, thin engorged cock—wiry like Mac himself—sprang up from a dirty-blond bush. I marveled at the length of it, crooked over a bit near the end, as Mac let out a sigh of relief. But I marveled even more to find that his entwining ivy and animal tattoo came down his side and looped up to encircle the base of his cock as well. I felt his hand leave my balls, and a finger slowly tracked its way down along my perineum and came to rest at the rim of my asshole. I gave a little lurch, as I heard Mac yell “Eureka!”
I was quickly to learn that he wasn’t yelling about his latest advance on my body, however. He’d seen the sign he’d been looking for. Four more miles to a rest stop. He returned both hands to the wheel in anticipation of turning in off the road, now his full concentration on his driving.
“We’re almost there and I’ll have to pay attention to getting turned.” he said. “But, but could you touch me? I’m dying here,” he added almost apologetically.
“Touch you?” I asked, innocently. “You mean like this?” I leaned over and gently encircled his cock and pulled down so that the foreskin came off his dick head. He shuddered and sighed. I let go of his cock and ran my hand up his tight belly and to his nipples, and then traced his tattoo design all the way from his neck down to around his cock. He sighed again, as he pulled into the rest stop and drove all the way to the back of the truck section, nosing into the far corner. He no sooner had the engine off than he’d turned to me, draped his long right arm around my neck, grabbing at my right pec with his strong right hand. He put his left hand on my sternum and ran it down along my abs and belly and continued on under the elastic of my shorts, pulling them down over my buttocks and my feet and tossing them into the corner of the passenger compartment floor. His right arm flipped back around my neck, and he had both of his hands wrapped around my dick as if it might escape him if he didn’t hold it in place. His lips were on my nipples and moving down my chest and stomach until they landed on the head of my cock, which he slurped and tongued and sucked like it was a Popsicle. I just laid back and enjoyed the sensation.
His right hand left my cock, and I heard and felt the pop of my seat belt. He reached back into the compartment behind the seats and brought out two big, fluffy pillows.
“Here, turn toward me and put these behind you,” he said in a hoarse voice, as his mouth came off my cock. I did as he asked. I brought my left leg up, and he lifted it to the back of his seat, lodging my calf behind his headrest. The heel of my right foot now rested on his side of the floor. He took my dick in his mouth again and pumped and sucked me until I spasmed and jacked off. I hadn’t realized how much tension I’d built up and how much I needed to cum. Keeping one hand wrapped around my rod and the other wandering across my belly, abs, and chest, he then licked his way down to my asshole and gave me a good eating out. I moaned and writhed appropriately, and after a few minutes of this, he sat back up, leaned back, and just let out a howl.
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